If I had an Editor

If I had an editor I’d write more. I’d reread what I wrote. I’d make changes before I hit send or publish or whatever button sends my writing into the world for readers.

I’d write more. I’d write regularly.

But I do not have an editor. My fan club is small. Non-existent. But I still must write.

I’ve been writing more regularly which makes me want to write more. Like the exercise conundrum. The more you work out the easier it is to motivate to work out again.

My dad has been encouraging me to write which makes me feel good. Instead of dismissing him withe the usual eye roll at his often unrealistic suggestions, I smiled and said thanks, which I’ve been doing along with a disguised eye roll at other suggestions. My mom, my fan, the woman whose opinion could make me change course at such rapid speed is no longer here. She cannot get on the phone and tell me to write. Ask to read something, offer criticism or encourage me. At least not verbally. Perhaps it is not so awful to have my father advocating for me to write. Maybe not all of his suggestions are ludicrous.

I know he cannot be my editor. He barely read anything that I have written post college.

I could pretend I had an editor. I could hire one. I could impose my own deadlines. I could. I could. I could.

Perhaps, tomorrow.


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